


An Angel's Name

by Lapin



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-22 07:49:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lapin/pseuds/Lapin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Shaw, Riptide was many things. So was Azazel. What they are together is something else entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N In which I fill a prompt successfully. Yay me. Prompt was that Riptide was once a prostitute, and Azazel was a client. I meant to write porn. I don't know exactly how I got this, but then, I'm a pretty mediocre writer and am expected to completely lose my train of thought. I write decent porn though, and that's what y'all are here for.
> 
> Warnings: Mentions of underage prostitution and non-consensual sex, i.e. rape. It is not graphically described, merely mentioned.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am in now way associated with Marvel, or the X-Men franchise, both comic and movie, and express no ownership. I am not profiting in any way off of this.

“Azazel,” The older woman jumps a little when he pops in, hand to her chest. “Goodness, I wish you wouldn't do that. You gave me a fright.”

“Apologies Madame,” He says, with a little inclination of his head. She accepts it with a nod of her own, and smooths out her dress. She is in her early seventies, Azazel knows, but she doesn't look older than half of that. The benefits of being a mutant, they have almost all found.

“Well, I suppose I know what you're here for.” He smiles, glad to get to the point. There is a familiar itch under his skin, and it needs to be scratched, badly. A hand that bears a heavy ring with an emerald set in it waves him down the hall, to the parlor, where she invites him to sit in one of the leather chairs. Everything here is expensive, in an understated way, and Azazel likes the attention to detail.

“Have you acquired anyone new?” He asks curiously.

“Yes, actually. Three new employees have joined us since your last visit. Would you like to meet them?” She is pouring him a glass of brandy as she asks, and when she hands it to him, he nods. “Are you bored with Taylor already?” His lip curls and she shakes her head with a disapproving frown. “Shame, he seemed to like you.”

“He likes getting paid.”

“Azazel, my dear, all my men like being paid. They're not here to love you.”

“For what I pay, I expect to get men who can act like they do.” She smiles at him before she picks up the phone and speaks to someone downstairs. There is a knock at the door before his glass is even half-drained.

“Now Azazel, be nice to them. I paid a lot of money for all three, especially Tòmas.” She opens the heavy door then, and admits the three men. Azazel can see them from where he sits, but Madame keeps the light cleverly arranged so that they can only see his outline. He lets his tail up over the arm of the chair just to be contrary, and Madame scowls at him unhappily. “This is Azazel. He is a valued customer here, and if he likes you, one of you will be lucky enough to enjoy his company.” Azazel hears the implication in her words, the _The pay will be worth it_ that makes them stand straighter.

Except the one on the end.

Azazel can see which one must be the expensive one. He's the lovely man in the middle, with red-brown hair and light eyes, but coffee-colored skin. He gives off an air of charm that Azazel can feel halfway across the room. But there is uneasiness there, as he watches Azazel's tail winding back and forth.

The one to the right is smirking though. It's an arrogant look, a man who thinks he's seen everything already and can no longer be surprised. He's handsome too, but not like Tòmas. He's darker, his hair almost black, his skin a few shades deeper, and he has brown eyes. But his smirk makes his face more interesting to Azazel, his relaxed boredom a welcome change.

Madame sees where his eyes have gone. “Janos,” She announces, “Please, show our guest to your room.” Tòmas looks disappointed, but stands aside. Azazel pops across the room to stand beside Janos, and gets a perverse pleasure out of the way he starts, just a little. But his eyes do not shutter when he gets his first real look at Azazel's face. They light up instead, and his smirk seems to turn into something like a grin. Azazel is...surprised at this reaction. It is a new one.

Janos beckons him with a crooked finger and he follows, watching the sway of his body, a casual sexuality he's probably not even aware of. They don't have to go far; Janos is on this floor, a clear show of favoritism from Madame.

“Ah, English?” He asks, when he closes his door behind Azazel, locking it confidently. “Mine is uh, not so good.” The accent sounds almost familiar, and Azazel tries to place it, as he sits in the armchair, across from the bed.

“You are from Spain?” Janos shakes his head.

“Mexico.” He corrects. He keeps looking at Azazel like he's the most interesting thing he's ever seen, and Azazel likes it. He is well worth the money if he can put on this good an act, even if the conversation will be lacking. “You are from somewhere else too, yes?” The sentence is slow, like he's picking the words out carefully. At first, Azazel thinks he's making a reference to his appearance, but then he realizes it's the accent.

“Russia.” Janos smiles again, as he moves to the sideboard, pouring another glass for Azazel. He pours vodka though, with a sly look at Azazel. “The madame told me long ago she would never allow that in her establishment.” He chides. Janos presses a finger to his lips teasingly, then hands over the drink. He pours himself one too, and drinks it without flinching.

“Russia, very cold, yes? I see pictures, lots of snow.”

“It can be.” No one has ever asked him before, especially not one of Madame's men. “Very beautiful, Russia.”

“You miss it.” It is not a question, but Azazel nods. He does, to an extent. But his home has gone slightly mad in the past handful of years, and Azazel may be quick and clever, but he did not fancy his odds, all the same. “I miss my home too.”

“You are very far away,” He concedes. “Why are you in France? Why not Spain?” Janos shrugs carelessly.

“Is very different here. I wanted different.” Janos takes his empty glass, sets it aside, and slides into Azazel's lap. “I like different.” Azazel has no doubt about what he is implying, and likes how sincere he sounds. “Azazel.” He says, rolling the name around. “Very odd name.”

“An angel's name.” Azazel replies, his hands going under Janos' shirt, touching skin. “An angel with a devil's face.”

“A devil's hands too,” Janos purrs, arching into him. He presses to Azazel, already hard, surprising him. He wonders what the man imagines instead of him, if he's thinking of past lovers, or just a handsome face like Tòmas. “So tell me devil, what do you want?”

“What will you give me?” He asks. His face, he cannot afford to scare off the only men he can get without trouble. It would be counter-productive to earn a bad name for himself. Money can only buy so much.

“For you _diablo_ , anything.” He sounds like he means it. “Do you want to fuck me? I would like that.” His smile teases, but Azazel is thrown off.

“No.” Janos actually manages to look disappointed convincingly, but his face perks up as he gets another idea.

“Perhaps here, like this? With your tail?” Azazel cannot get his footing back, not when Janos is being so enthusiastic. None of them have ever asked for his tail, or even wanted it near them. The idea has appeal though, and Janos can see it in his face. His hands go to Azazel's shirt, the buttons sliding out easily with his practiced touch, and Azazel moves for him so he can take it off, and toss it aside. His own he takes care of in short order, then he slides back easily, onto his feet, his fingers going to the buttons of his pants.

Naked, he is beautiful, even more so than before, and as he undoes Azazel's belt, Azazel is caught in the movement of his hands. His fingers are quick, but, and he will blame this on the alcohol later, it is almost as if the belt begins to tug before Janos' fingers get there.

In his lap, Janos is warm and pliant. That is all that matters, Azazel tells himself. He kisses Azazel without flinching once at his teeth, and he groans nicely when Azazel sucks a mark into his neck. He does not hurry either, does not try to get Azazel out. His body moves slowly against his, building it up for both of them. “ _Su cola_ ,” He gasps, then frowns at himself, struggling visibly before saying, “Your tail, yes?”

This is new, even for Azazel, but the thought that someone wants to try is alluring. He brings it up and wraps the broad tip around Janos, making him gasp, Azazel's name it sounds like. He mumbles nonsense in Spanish, his hand warm around Azazel, hips rising and falling. Azazel is fascinated by the sight of him, seemingly so involved.

Janos comes first, but he brings Azazel off quickly enough after. He laughs against Azazel's chest when he gets his breath back, and hums a little into his neck. “Very fun, that.” He announces, before climbing off and grabbing a towel. He cleans Azazel first, then himself, all with a grin. “Will you want to again tonight? I am very, very good with my mouth, promise.” Azazel can believe it, almost believes that this is not an act. Madame should have paid the most for Janos, he thinks. Beauty is one thing, but this is something that will draw men back.

The thought of other men buying Janos makes jealousy curl in his stomach. He likes Janos, and does not relish the thought of coming only to find him already engaged. More importantly, he likes him like this, and he does not want to see how quickly some of the more interesting customers of Madame's will dampen his easy nature.

“Would you be opposed if I arranged for me to be your only client?” Janos looks up from the new drinks he is pouring with a sly grin.

“I think you like me _diablo_.” Azazel smirks and beckons him over, so he can pull him back down into his lap. “I want to hear it,” He teases, breathing on Azazel's ear before flicking his tongue over the point.

“I like you,” Azazel concedes. Janos smiles, wide and pleased, and takes Azazel's glass from his hand.

“I like you too,” He says, and even if Azazel doesn't believe it for a minute, he sounds genuine. “I will be yours alone then.” He downs Azazel's drink and kisses him, the glass falling to the rich carpet with a muffled thump, the taste of vodka in his mouth.

-

“You want to _what_?” Madame looks as though he's slapped her.

“I can pay the bill easily.”

“I don't doubt that, that's not the problem. You have never permanently engaged one of my men before Azazel, not even Thomas, who was a favorite. You spend one night with Janos and you decide he's now your kept whore?” Azazel shrugs, and she swears in French, making a rude gesture at him that he rolls his eyes at. “Fine Azazel. But if you engage him, it will be on a monthly payment. You miss one, I will engage him again. Am I understood?”

“As always Madame.” She sighs, crosses her arms.

“How many visits can I expect now? More times? Less?”

“Is that any business of yours?” He asks, his temper wearing thin. He needs to return to Shaw already, can feel Emma pestering him in his head about when he will get back, she is bored, she hates the new recruits, will he bring her breakfast. He cannot take her thoughts and Madame's questioning at once. “You have my money, Janos has agreed, is there another problem I should know about?” He stuns the woman quiet for a moment.

“ _Non_.” She grits out.

“Then I bid you farewell. I will return when I return.”

He brings Emma a box of eclairs, to her delight, and she rants for a good hour about the awful minds of their newest teammates, two mutants Shaw found somewhere in Greece with forceful abilities, and weak minds. They think filthy thoughts at her all the live long day, and she has half a mind to turn them into drones. He reminds her how well that particular plan worked out last time, and she wrinkles her nose.

“Janos.” She says, startling him. “He is handsome, my word. He's new, isn't he?”

“I like him.” He answers, with a shrug. He has no desire to hide anything from Emma. She keeps his secrets, always has. Shaw believes he owns Emma, Azazel knows.

But it was only fourteen years ago when a prostitute Azazel was frequenting begged him for one favor, a favor he would do anything for. There was a twelve-year-old girl, he whispered, and they were selling her. He was many things, he told Azazel, but he would not be party to this. And so Azazel teleported into a locked room, where a young blonde girl had her knees to her chest, tears dried on her face. She had not been afraid of him, even then. Instead, she had hugged him, sobbing, begging him to not reconsider.

It was the first time he met a telepath.

What to do with a young girl, he'd had no idea, but Emma was self-sufficient for the most part. She lived in pretty homes and penthouse suites, her every need attended to, while he conducted his business as always. There had been something nice though, about coming back to a place, to someone who was happy to see him.

Emma had come into her own eventually, and he was proud of who she was, of her power, not just her mutant ability, but her mind and personality.

She smiled as she read the emotions on the surface of his mind. She was his first, always, no matter what Shaw thought.

“Don't distract me with affection. That only works when you're not hiding something delightful from me.” She licks cream off her fingers in a very undignified manner. “So tell me, what's so different about this one?” Without giving her an eyeful she doesn't want, he shows her Janos' easy manner with him, how he laughs easily, smiles like he actually likes Azazel. “He's good. Even I can't see the deception.”

“Is memories,” He refutes. “Not perfect.”

“You've engaged him though?” He nods, and opens the paper that's been left on the table. “You should bring him a present when you go to him next.”

“A present?” Azazel searches for the editorials. He likes reading the letters to the editor, likes laughing at the idiots and their petty problems, or the middle-class men who think they can solve the world's problems. “He is prostitute, not mistress.”

“It would make him like you. Don't you want someone to actually like you?”

“You like me.” She huffs impatiently, and crosses her arms.

“You're just being contrary.”

“And you are being silly little girl.” She throws her half-eaten eclair at him.

Still, despite his nay-saying, he lingers over a set of cufflinks on a heist. They are silver, simple, but elegant. He pockets them, and tells himself he will do nothing so silly as wrap them.

Janos is delighted though, and puts them on immediately. “I have never owned any as fine as this,” He tells him, wrapping his arms around Azazel and kissing him, not even as a seduction. He breaks away immediately, still all smiles, and admires them.

Azazel watches him with something like forewarning drumming in his head. He is getting attached, and that's not good. But, he reminds himself, Janos is just a prostitute, just playing a part. He is like a pet for Azazel. Good pets get rewarded.

That is all this is.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Chapter two, very sweet and fluffy. I was in a very good mood when I wrote this. Please feel free to comment with criticisms on my prose, my terrible Russian, and my often over-looked errors.

“You know,” Janos says one day, comfortable where he is in Azazel's lap, “There is a bed in this room.” Azazel has come to him seven times this month so far, and never once have they had sex on his bed. They've had sex in the chair, on the floor, against the wall, and once on his dresser, but never the bed. They are on the couch now, Azazel resting in the corner, Janos in his lap, head on his chest.

Azazel shrugs, but he has that expression on his face that tells Janos to stop asking. There are many subjects Janos finds he is not allowed to bring up with him, many questions he will not answer. Janos knows that they are merely playing at being lovers, but he had hoped that Azazel would start to speak more. He likes his voice, likes the way the hard language of his birth makes his English blunt, very different from Janos' own. And he likes the stories he does get, about daring robberies, performing in a circus, and his friend Emma. He likes them all, likes hearing Azazel speak to him like he cares.

He thinks he likes the man more than he should. But Azazel has engaged him exclusively, so that means something, doesn't it? And he has presents to prove that Azazel thinks of him when he is away. The gift he brought this time, a bottle of tequila, sits on a table, opened. It is making Janos' head buzz, just a little, now.

“Do you like the gift?” Azazel asks, after a few minutes.

“Hm. Yes, very much.” He puts his palm against the back of Azazel's neck, brings him down for a kiss. A man who likes to kiss. He never thought he would get this lucky. “You are spoiling me a little, I think.” Azazel strokes his hair, smiles indulgently.

“You are mine. I can spoil you as I please.” Janos thinks the warm feeling in his chest might be a problem, that he should not feel so happy at being owned. Azazel does own him, literally. He squashes the unpleasant thought, and curls into him a bit more, the throw blanket slipping off his shoulder, exposing him to the chilly air. September has turned into October quickly, and it feels like it. “Janos, do you desire women at all?” It's an odd question.

“No. Do you?” Azazel shrugs, and Janos wishes he could see his face. He is so sleepy though, and Azazel is so warm. “Why do you ask?”

“I wonder about you, is all. How old you are, your family, why you are here really.”

“You think about me?” He asks, his tone light and teasing, despite the joy he feels within. “I am twenty-seven. I have not seen my family in over ten years. As for why I am here, well. There are many reasons. Do they matter? I am here now. With you. That is all that is important.” He breathes in Azazel's scent, soap and cologne, lets it soothe him almost to sleep. “How old are you then?”

“Nearly fifty.” He answers, to Janos' shock. It starts him a bit more awake, at least.

“How can you be so old? You do not look it.” He can feel Azazel's smirk.

“My kind, mutants, we age very slowly. No one knows why, as far as I know.”

“Are you really that old?” He asks, his voice getting lower. He wants to stay awake, wants to enjoy the time he has with Azazel while he is here.

“The year of my birth is uncertain. I was around three when the circus found me. They were only guessing though, and most of them could not remember what year it was they found me. The ones that did all had different answers. Traveling like that, the years run into one another. I did not truly become conscious of keeping track until I was around ten. So I say almost fifty, but I could be as young as forty, for all I know. My aging has been very slow.” His hand rests on the back of Janos' head now, keeping him close. Janos likes the weight.

He closes his eyes.

He naps for a time, and when he opens his eyes, Azazel is sleeping too. It's thrilling, in its own way, because Azazel has never let himself sleep here. It makes Janos preen, just a little. Azazel likes him.

Breeze tickles his neck, and he has to concentrate, force it to stop. How to tell him, he wonders. How to tell him that he is not alone here, that Janos is the same?

It had been two months since Madame had found him, living in a motel room in Paris. He'd been frightened, badly so, wondering what this woman was going to do with him, but instead of using him, she'd offered him a job instead. _”You're quite lovely,_ she'd said. _How would you like better accommodations than these?_ Mutants look out for the own, she'd told him later, when they were back here, at her building in Marseille.

Azazel stirs a little under him, and he forces himself up, gets cleaned up, and rings downstairs for coffee to be brought up. Azazel will drink tea in a pinch, he's found, but he strongly prefers black coffee, with three sugars. He likes the French coffee more than he wants to admit, but he could just acquire something else if he really wanted something different.

His ability amazes Janos, as does his appearance. He does not think much of himself, Janos suspects, maybe even believes what he has obviously been told in the past. The scarring on his body tells Janos that Azazel has had a hard life, and it can probably all be traced back to his features.

He is not ugly though. His face is interesting, more than anything else. Not handsome, on its own, but it is the way he wears it. His personality is magnetic, charming without it ringing false. And Janos likes how different he is, in any case. He is like a painting that has stepped off the canvas, a devil pausing in his great war to walk among humans.

Most importantly, to Janos at least, he is gentle with him. When his teeth scrape Janos' throat, when his nails scratch his skin, it is purposeful, and never the wrong side of pleasure. He makes sure Janos gets off every time, even seems to take joy in it. And he does get Janos off, he thinks with a smile. Madame has told him that Azazel has come to her for years, and he has obviously learned well, unlike other men.

He's still watching him fondly when there's a discreet knock at the door. In his robe, he slips out to get the tray, and finds it is Tòmas who has delivered it. “Are you playing maid now?” He asks, in French, but before he can take their tray, the other man catches hold of him.

“How do you do it Janos? His face, I swear, I see it in my dreams.”

“I like his face.” Janos snaps defensively. “And it is none of your business.”

“He looks like a devil, come to murder us all.” The man says fearfully, his eyes flickering to the half-open door. Azazel is shielded from his gaze, but possessiveness is in Janos' voice when he responds.

“I think you are jealous he likes me best. And I am glad he does. I like him best as well. So mind your own business.” If he'd been able to speak Spanish, it would have been better, more cutting. But he is irritated, and he cannot ever seem to hold onto his second or third language when he is. He is proud he even managed that much shaky French.

Tòmas hands over the tray sulkily, and Janos ducks back inside, locking the door while muttering insults in Spanish. It was not the first time someone had questioned his decision to take on Azazel, and he is growing tired of it. He likes the man, there is nothing to be concerned about. But still, the others watch him with pitying eyes.

“You are beautiful when you are angry.” He nearly drops the cup as he turns to Azazel, startled.

“Warning, yes?” His anger is given some relief when Azazel stands from the couch, blanket slipping away so his body isn't hidden from Janos' eyes. He tears his eyes away and goes back to preparing the coffee, but broad hands close over his hipbones, and a mouth is at his ear, making him shudder.

“I do like you best.” Janos blushes, and pours the coffee, adding the sugar to Azazel's and the cream to his, without saying a word. He is embarrassed at his presumption, meant only to rile Tòmas up, but Azazel does not seem to mind, at least. “Do they all worry over you like that?”

“They are stupid.” He says hotly, turning in Azazel's arms and handing him his cup. “What is the word? Means to not see more, only top?” Azazel quirks an eyebrow, attempting to understand.

“You might mean shallow?” He suggests. It sounds right, and Janos nods vigorously.

“You treat me better than any man ever has, even before I was this,” He gestures around him, at his pretty surroundings, “And you are smart, interesting. Better. Yet now they show concern, want me to give you up. Bastards, they can all go to hell.” He is working himself up into a fine temper, ranting, so he is surprised when a kiss is pressed to his temple.

“For someone with poor English, you swear well enough.”

“Of course. Everyone learns to swear first.” Azazel is smiling at him in a strange way, and it makes him look down, away, anywhere but his face. He feels ridiculous. He is a pet, meant to keep Azazel happy, not a lover. “Do you have to go soon?” It has been hours since Azazel arrived, and he never spends more than twelve, to Janos' disappointment.

Azazel shrugs though. “Emma has not called me. Do you want me to go?” He thinks the smile on his face is more than enough answer, but he shakes his head anyway. “Do you like music?” Janos looks at him curiously, and that's how he ends up dressed very nicely, in a very expensive box, in a concert hall of some sort. There is an orchestra on stage, warming up.

“You are very rich, aren't you?” He asks, eying the suit Azazel wears, and the elegance of the box. Azazel smiles at him, his tail flicking back and forth over his shoulder like a cat's. “I think you are. So why do you steal still? Why not live in nice house, with servants paid to be quiet?”

“Money runs out eventually.” Azazel's tail is still flicking impatiently, his eyes on the stage. “Besides, I enjoy it. Is, uh, hobby. Do you know that word?” Janos can almost place it, but he shakes his head when he can't. “Means ah, habit. Habit for joy. Like people who play football. “ He has enough of the idea now, and Azazel must see the comprehension. “Do you play?” Janos could not have asked for a more perfect opportunity to show Azazel, to admit what only Madame knows right now.

“I was very good, but I, uh, what is word? Means you play wrong?”

“Cheated.”

“Yes, I did that. Though I was never caught, it got dangerous.”

“How were you cheating?” Janos raises his hand, and the wind picks up, blows the curtains, and comes to Janos, whirling in his fingers until he has a perfect tornado spinning on his fingertips. Azazel is shocked into silence, staring, and Janos laughs as he lets it go. “You are a mutant.” Janos quirks an eyebrow, and Azazel frowns at him. “Obviously you are a mutant. Why was this kept from me?” Janos does not like the tone in his voice.

“I was not keeping it from you. Madame told me to tell no one. But then you came, and I had to reconsider my promise to her. I have been waiting for an opportunity.” The word is slow, as he sounds it out, unsure of his pronunciation. Azazel's shoulders relax as he explains, and he reaches up and tucks Janos' hair behind his ear affectionately.

“Just when I thought you could not get any more beautiful.” Janos likes the way he sounds now. There is awe in his voice, happiness too. “ _Ты будешь моим отмены_ ,” The Russian sounds so odd to Janos, only just used to the hardness of English. But he loves how it sounds in Azazel's voice, loves how everything sounds in his voice. “How powerful are you?”

“I do not know. Very. This is why I leave home. I lost my temper, and destroyed half the town.” He shakes his head. “I do not know how to control it then. Is like I lose myself. Only happens few times. Was very, very angry, every time.” Azazel's hand settles on the back of his neck, thumb working into Janos' skin. It feels good, and he rolls his head into it.

“You must have looked so gorgeous like that. Like a god.” Janos huffs dismissively, and the first strains of music lilt up to them.

“What is this?”

“Russian compositions. Is, ah...I do not know the word. Lots of composers, lots of pieces. This is a show they put between large productions, something to keep the orchestra in practice. This group very good, even if they are French.” He says it like it's an insult, and it makes Janos laugh, lean into him, kiss his ear. “You like it?”

“Very much. Is different, but good.” Azazel is pleased with him. “Will you stay with me tonight? We do not have to go to the house. We can go somewhere, like this. Lots of places where there are no people.” Azazel shifts uneasily.

“I should go back after this. Emma misses me when I leave her alone with the others for too long.” Janos is disappointed, and Azazel clucks at him, hitches his chin. “Do not sulk. It will not work on me. Emma used it so much when she was young, I am immune.”

“You miss her too.” He finds it sweet, Azazel's affection for the girl. He would want to meet her, if he was really Azazel's lover. But he's not. He reminds himself of this. Azazel's gestures, his gifts, they mean nothing but that Janos is a good boy. Not that he cares. It is hard to remember though. “Why did she sulk?”

“Many reasons. She wanted clothes I did not approve of, wanted to go places she was too young for. Silly child things.”

“Could she not just make you?” He shakes his head.

“I cannot be manipulated like that. She tried once, and uh, she did not try again.”

“Why does it not work on you?”

“Part of my power, I think. When I move, I know ahead of time where people are, where walls are, floors. I can see it, in my mind.” He taps his head. “Is like map. The people, I know who they are, sometimes, especially our kind. Can feel them, like uh, heat? I do not know words. I know though. Emma says is like her power, almost. Small kind. People like Emma, they cannot control each other. Is like two magnets repelling. It was very scary for her, when she tried on me. Hurt her badly. She was sixteen, just learning how. Before that, she could only see into minds. Now though, very powerful. Very smart.”

The music swells to a crescendo, and they listen in silence, Janos' head on Azazel's shoulder. The orchestra plays through more pieces, beautiful music that makes Janos close his eyes, focus. He has never heard anything like this live, has never had the opportunity. The concert ends too soon for his taste. Azazel will go soon now.

“So you will take me home, then leave?” Azazel nods. “When will you be back?”

“When I have time. Will you miss me?”

“Yes.” He answers honestly. “I miss you more each time. You are the only man I have ever felt like this with.”

“Janos,” Azazel sounds annoyed, and Janos recoils a little, worried he is sounding clingy. “I do not require you to be so thorough. You only need to be nice.” Janos takes a long moment to even understand what Azazel is saying, much less what he means.

“You think this is act? You think I do not like you?” Azazel sighs.

“I pay Madame good money for you. I know why you let me touch you.” Janos sits up, so he can push into Azazel's space further. Around them, he can hear people leaving, but in here, it is just them.

“I let many men touch me for money. I do not pour them coffee, or ask them about their lives, or tell them about mine. Those things, I do not care about with other men. With you though, is different.” He lets the wind flow around his fingertips like a cat's cradle, before directing it to brush across Azazel's mouth, over his ear, and through his hair. “I have never showed anyone this. Even others like us. You, I wanted to know.”

“And if I did not pay you?”

“Then you never would have met me.” He lets Azazel kiss him. “And Madame would not let me see you.”

“What if I said you had other options?”

“What are these options?” Azazel seems to be trying to find something in his expression, but for the life of him, he does not know. He wants to know what else he can do, what else he could possibly be, when he has no identification, no visa, and poor language skills. He cannot go home, and doesn't even want to. “Azazel?”

“Forget what I said. I am thinking nonsense.” His tail is touching Janos' leg, a seemingly unconscious gesture, his fingers still resting behind Janos' ear. “I will take you home.” On impulse, Janos leans over and kisses him again right before they disappear in the smoke, and when they reappear, sitting on his couch, they are still kissing. Azazel releases him slowly, reluctantly, then kisses him again. “I will return soon.” He promises, when they part again. Then he is gone, the smell of smoke lingering.

Janos huffs sadly, then prepares for bed. He had hoped to actually use the item this time, but Azazel always managed to keep them away. Nor will he actually fuck Janos. This is disappointing to him, being denied a sexual act that he actually enjoys. There are many men he works with who would be thrilled to never have to again, men who do not derive any pleasure from it, or simply do not like the act itself, but Janos has never had a problem. And the thought of it being Azazel fucking him, Azazel inside him, it's enough to get him half-hard just from the fantasy.

Like the bed though, Azazel will not.

He is a very strange man, for all that Janos likes him so much.

He is just under the covers when his phone rings. Groaning, he pulls himself back out and crosses the room to it, hoping it is not the desk again, with another man asking if he is still unavailable. This he is especially grateful to Azazel for. “Yes?”

“Janos,” Madame always says his name wrong, “Come to my office immediately. There is something we must discuss.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Chapter Three is jumping POVs, so pay attention, or you might get lost. I could have sworn I promised porn, and yet...

Janos wishes he had thought to put on more than his robe before coming to Madame. Her offices are cold, despite the fire burning behind him. It's easier to focus on these things.

“Hector Rodriguez is a very powerful man Janos.” Her Spanish is French accented, but still clear, precise.

“I don't care. Azazel has an exclusive contract with me. And even if he didn't, I would not book with that man again.”

“And believe me Janos, I would not book him with you if I had any other choice. I have no love for him. Especially after what he did to your face that night.” Janos' hand comes up unconsciously. It had been his third night working for Madame. The bruises had faded, but the memory was still sharp, the pain of a fist slamming into his cheekbone, the bright, sharp pain that had exploded across his face. “But please understand, I have no choice. He wants you, and if he does not get you,” She pauses, swallows, twists around the great emerald ring.

“Madame?”

“He has a lot of power Janos. More than you realize. And he could shut me down easily. The others, they would be...” She trails off as though the thought is too horrible for her to finish, and Janos' mind has already filled in the blanks anyway. “Janos please. You must.”

“What about Azazel?”

“He never needs to know.” He starts when her hand touches his shoulder, but he looks down and meets her eyes. “Please forgive me Janos. I would take your place if I could.” She would too, he thinks. Being mutants has given them a solidarity, a bond.

“Azazel _never_ finds out.” She nods, and pats him, the band of the ring clinking against his shoulder. “Then I will. Do not ask this of me again though. Tell him a lie, tell him I have left, but never again after this.”

“I can concede to those terms.” She presses her hand over her mouth, shakes her head, and walks to her desk. She is not happy about this, is just as frightened as him. Their fear is for different reasons though, he thinks. He is afraid Azazel will find out, will reject him for it. Janos will have deceived him, and he does not think Azazel forgives that lightly.

“When will he be here?”

“Tomorrow. He has purchased six hours.” Six hours of the man sounds like torture, and with his tastes, it might very well be. “Please Janos, I hope you can forgive me.”

“I understand Madame. I am just...” He braces his shoulders, tries to will himself to be a man and deal with this. “I do not want to lose Azazel.” Madame frowns at him, before her expression softens.

“You care for him.” There is so much pity in it, it hurts. “Oh Janos my dear, you silly boy. He is a client.” He shrugs helplessly, wraps his arms around himself.

“He is different.”

“No, he's not. My love, they are all the same, every one, no matter how nice they are, how many presents they bring you. They are clients, and they pay for you to be their pretty little bird. They want nothing else.” She pours herself a drink, and offers him one, but he shakes his head. He has had enough today, and no amount of drink will make this go away. “Azazel has been a client for years. He likes to play at love, but men who play at it are the kind who do not truly want it. Do not read more into this than there is.”

“Yes Madame.” He agrees, and holds himself a little tighter.

The next day dawns grey and smelling of snow. Janos downs a glass of the tequila before he hides it away, hoping the burn will ease what is about to happen.

Rodriguez is on time.

“Janos, my love. You are as beautiful as ever,” He kisses him on the cheek in greeting, already removing his jacket.

He takes a deep breath, and gets on with it.

The tequila fades long before he needs it to, and the pain increases when it does. Rodriguez is as rough as ever, but Janos gets through it, the way he has many times before with men like this. Rodriguez at least does not care if Janos is hard, unlike some of the others. It is the one thing Janos never mastered, faking arousal, and if Rodriguez did want it, he would probably find himself even more bruised.

Finally, his hours are up, and Janos has never been happier at seeing a client dress.

“Tell me, what is this foolishness Madame told me when I called? You have some kind of exclusive arrangement now?” This is not good, he thinks, watching how carefully Rodriguez stands, how he smiles.

“I do not know what Madame told you.” He smiles again, and the uneasiness in Janos' stomach increases tenfold. He wants this man gone, now.

“Why was I never offered the same contract?” _Because I would never have agreed,_ he thinks, but shrugs in response. “This man, he must be very rich.”

“I do not know.” He glances at the clock behind the shield of his hair. Rodriguez has two minutes left, and then Madame will ask him to leave. Two minutes, he must get through two minutes.

“You have such a lovely face Janos.” Rodriguez is approaching, and in that split-second, Janos knows what is going to happen, but he doesn't have enough time to react. The revolver comes down hard on his face, and he cries out in pain, his breath knocked out of him.

He vaguely hears the door opening, hears the arguing in French, but he's too dazed to understand it. The pain washes over him in waves, ebbing and rising, each time worse than before. He hears his name, and a hand touches the swelling bruise, gently. Slowly, his senses come back, and he sees Madame sitting over him, a bag of ice in her hand.

“He did not break the bone.” She says, before he can ask. “But the bruising is not going down. You bled, a bit, but the doctor does not think it needs stitches.” He doesn't speak, can't bear the thought. It hurts just to breath deeply. “He was removed. I do not know what will happen now.” She sounds lost, hopeless, and Janos' heart clenches. Six hours and a betrayal, for nothing. He might never see Azazel again now.

She tends to him until she cannot excuse her absence anymore, and then he is alone. He downs the painkillers left on the table, and sleeps for a time.

He wakes to the crack of Azazel appearing in his room.

They are both silent, Azazel staring at the mess that has been made of his face, eyebrows drawing down in a scowl. His tail brushes against it, and Janos flinches, the area sensitive still.

“Who did this to you?” Janos shakes his head, lies back down. Azazel will put the pieces together without him saying a word, and he does not want to offer the other side of his face for the anger that is surely coming. “Another man did this to you.” He closes his eyes so that he can't see the expression on his face. “You took another client.” Janos buries his head down, eyes squeezed shut, prays he will just go away, leave him alone.

A hand forces him flat on his back, but he doesn't open his eyes. “You have a contract with me!” Janos flinches when the fingers dig in, and he feels Azazel pause, then the blanket creeps back, revealing his chest. The quiet is long and thick with fear for him, and when he feels the tail brushing down him, he recoils, frightened, but is soft as it traces down. “Why did you let him do this?”

Janos opens his mouth to speak, and hisses at the pain it causes. “No choice.” He manages to whisper. He peeks a little, sees Azazel's expression, the shock and disapproval. He closes his eyes again and lets his head fall back against the pillow, bruised side up. Fingers brush it gently, and he tenses, waits for the blow, but it never comes.

“You think I am going to do what he did.” Janos feels the bed move as he sits up straight, then stands. “Where is Madame? I want an explanation.”

“Office.” There are tears building in his eyes. He makes no effort to stop them, does not care. The crack of displaced air has never been a more welcome sound.

He closes his eyes and wills it all to just go away.

-

Madame looks up from her desk, and Azazel can see she is prepared for him.

“I had no choice,” She states, right off the bat. “Hector Rodriguez is a man who can do as he pleases, and I was trying to save this place. He only wanted Janos. I am sorry, and I will refund your money, but I had no other options.” She sighs bitterly, and taps her fingers. “I am ruined, in any case. I threw him out, and now I am merely waiting for him to have me shut down.”

“You had no right to force Janos into it.” He barks, angry, so angry. Janos' bruised face haunts him, the way he flinched under Azazel's touch burning into his memory.

“He was trying to help!” She shouts, standing. “We are not all like you Azazel, able to use our abilities to grow wealthy, able to escape whenever necessary. Janos can barely control his, and mine? Mine is nothing, does nothing for me or anyone. I have built something here, and maybe it is not what many would see as an honorable life, but it is a life. I take in who I can, I protect who I can. Janos was trying to repay the favor. So do not dare judge me, do not! I will have none of it from you, or anyone! I have lived through two wars, have seen my country destroyed, twice over! I have this little piece now, this home, and I will do what I need to!”

Her breathing is heavy, labored. She is under much strain, he sees now, at her breaking point.

“Why did he do that to Janos?” She scowls, and shakes her head.

“Rodriguez gets off on causing pain. As for why he struck Janos with his pistol, jealousy, I suspect. He found out Janos had a private arrangement with you, and decided if he could not have Janos, he would make sure no one else wanted him. He is that kind of worm of a man.”

Azazel walks to her drinks cabinet, grabs a bottle of whiskey, and pours a full glass. After he has finished it, he tries to think, tries to understand where he will go from here. Janos had not betrayed him for money, but for safety. It was not much of a choice at all, from he could see, and he had paid dearly for it. So what to do?

“He did not want to deceive you.” Madame is not looking at him, but at the fire, twisting the ring around and around. “He cares for you Azazel. Genuinely.” Around and around again, her eyes as far away as the moon, she keeps speaking. “When he takes this away from me, will you take Janos? Take him somewhere far away? Because Rodriguez will if you do not. I do not know if Janos will defend himself. Maybe he will simply give up.”

“What about the others?”

“I have arrangements in place, escapes for them. My people are not stupid. They have survived this long.”

Azazel comes to a decision, and walks over to her. “Tell me Madame, where does Rodriguez reside now?” She comprehends quickly and shakes her head. “I will find out somehow Madame. It will be easier on everyone if you simply tell me.”

“I will not be-” He comes closer, and she stops, closes her eyes. She walks to her desk, and writes down the location, her hand trembling. She does not want to do this, despite everything. “Please Azazel. If it goes wrong, please,”

“I will take care of this Madame.”

He disappears, and arrives in a penthouse. Around him, there is stunned silence for a moment, then the guards shout in Spanish, and the fight begins. The guards he takes care of easily, their fear easy to manipulate into working for him, making their shots erratic, their strikes slow.

He saves the man they were guarding for last. No weapon, just a frightened creature at his feet, staring at him as though he were the devil himself.

“Do you speak English, my friend?” He asks casually.

“Yes.” Azazel sees his eyes flicking about the room, trying to see what is within reach.

“Good.” His tail twists and winds over his shoulder, his only giveaway for his rage. “Tell me, did no one ever teach you when you were a boy, to not take what is not yours?” The man trembles before him, so Azazel crouches down, looks him in the eye. “Janos is mine. And you took him. You stole from me, my friend. That, very rude. Is a great sin, stealing. Did you know that?” Rodriguez nods, his eyes now following Azazel's tail.

“He is just a whore.” Azazel's tail strikes, stopping a scant breath from the man's throat.

“No, he is _my_ whore. And you touched what is mine.” He presses his hand to his chest emphatically. “That was a very stupid thing to do. If I were you, I would start apologizing.” The man is not the kind, not yet.

He apologizes, in the end.

-

In his room, Janos drifts in and out of sleep. His face aches, but he does not like the way the doctor's pills make his head feel muddled. He tries whiskey at one point, but the burning it causes rids him of that notion fairly quickly.

Someone knocks on the door. He struggles to his feet and answers, but nearly shuts it. Azazel stands there. “May I come in?” It's rather surreal. Janos turns and walks back to the bed, lying back down. Azazel shuts the door behind him, locks it, and Janos' heartbeat picks up. He prays Azazel will not strike him in the face, or the stomach. His back, he can handle his back. He turns a bit onto his stomach, so that will be the easiest target.

Azazel says nothing, does nothing, for a long time.

“Have I ever struck you before?” He asks, voice heavy with something Janos cannot be bothered to identify.

“No.” He answers.

“Then why are you so sure I will do it now?”

“Because, does not matter how nice you act, gifts you bring me, you are not different from him.” He says dully, Madame's words coming back to him. “I am your pet. Here to be used.” Azazel does not touch him, maybe senses how badly Janos wants a barrier. “I am idiot, for thinking differently.”

“Janos,” It is a plea, so he looks up at him, and sees him closely for the first time since he came in.

“Your shirt,” He sits up, reaches out to feel. “Why is there blood?” Azazel does not appear injured, and even if he is, Janos needs to remind himself to keep the distance between them. Still, there is concern, worry.

“That man, he will not return.” His tail comes up and just barely brushes Janos' injury, so as not to cause any pain. “And he paid for this. Trust me.”

“What have you done?” Janos is not horrified, not really, nor is he surprised. Azazel has not survived this long without shedding blood before. He hardly notices Azazel's hand grabbing onto his.

“I am not a good man Janos. I know that. But I am not him.” He brings Janos' hand to his lips, kisses his knuckles. “No man will harm what is mine, and still live. You understand my meaning?” He nods, Azazel's hand releasing his before he can say anything, do anything. He is gone in the next second, leaving Janos with nothing but smoke.

He recovers, as the days go by, and the bruising goes down. Eventually, after a few weeks, his skin is unmarred, like it never happened. But Azazel does not return to him, even though Madame assures Janos that Azazel still keeps him under contract. Maybe it is pity, he thinks. But there was something else there that night, in his face, when he looked at Janos, and it's that memory that he holds on to. He misses him, misses the easy way they were together, even if it was just business.

He tells himself that it might be time to face the fact that it was never just business for him.

He decides to go out one day, down the streets, enjoying the cold air, hints of Christmas slowly starting to creep into the shop windows. He'd never thought much of it himself, growing up as poor as he did. The celebrations had been big, of course, but the work at home didn't wait for anything.

He returns hours later, to find the lights in his room on, and a blonde woman clad in white sitting on his couch.

“Janos,” She greets, with a nod.

“I am sorry, perhaps you were misdirected. I do not service women, and even if I did, I am already contracted.” He thinks he says the right thing, but she shakes her head, so he goes over the sentence again internally. French is more difficult than English for him, for some reason.

“I'm sorry, I never learned French. Azazel meant for me to, but, well, he never could truly force me to do anything. I can swear beautifully in Russian though.” Her English sounds American to his ear, but with an odd accent to it he can't place. “Has he mentioned me?”

“You are Emma, aren't you?”

“He has talked about me then.” Janos sits down in the armchair, catty-corner to her. “He doesn't know I'm here. In fact, if he did know? He would yell at me until my ears bled. And then he would yell some more. He hates it when I get in his business.” She's quite pretty, he thinks, but odd in her mannerisms.

“Why are you here then?”

“I'm only acting weird because I'm in a brothel.” She hisses, and he chuckles a little when he sees the flush creeping up her face. “I don't normally, you know, I mean, Azazel would kill me if I did, for one.” She huffs, and straightens her hair, obviously trying to stay calm. “He misses coming to you. He's very lonely, you know. There aren't that many people he can talk to. But I can't convince him to go, not without him knowing I was reading his mind, and that just irritates him.”

“So what, you want me to come to him? That's not how it works.” She swallows, bites her lip, her boot tapping a depression into the carpet.

“What if I said you didn't have to do this anymore?”

“What else would I do?”

“Your powers.” He frowns, and she talks faster, nervous. “The man Azazel and I work for, he hires mutants. Strong mutants. And you have so much potential, I can feel it in you. You could be trained, learn to control it.” She grabs his hands, her eyes earnest. “You could be so much more than this. And you could be with Azazel.” She can see into his head, he reminds himself. She knows exactly what she is offering. “And it would be real. No transaction involved. You could make him so happy.”

“Would he want me there?”

“Yes,” She exclaims, excited. “Oh god, he would be thrilled. Granted, he would sulk and tell me to stop trying to control everything, and maybe give me a lecture on boundaries again, but he would be better, having you there.”

He looks up at her, and sees her happiness, as she sees his decision made in his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N And that's it! The end of this prompt. I have hopefully fulfilled it satisfactorily. I want to move on to other prompts though, so I wrapped this one up. Y'all seemed to enjoy it (Seriously, you people like me way more than I deserve), and I got a lot of love, which I appreciated. Hope everyone's happy with this. It is silliness and not at all accurate, but, well, I don't take myself very seriously anyway.

“You're not happy that I'm here,” Janos is at his door, dark eyes downcast.

It's been two weeks since Emma went behind his back, and he's done everything possible to simply not be at the base. Emma has spent the days alternatively pleading for forgiveness and yelling at him for his idiocy, but Janos has been silent, quietly assessing the situation.

“This is not a good place for you.” He says, his hands reflexively wiping down the blade in his hands.

“Why? You think I cannot do this job?” Azazel is unsure of how to respond to his question, though he wants to have an answer. Janos is powerful, that much has been made obvious in the training sessions. Already, he is reaping the benefits of not having to hold back, being able to experiment, being able to simply be what he is. Azazel likes the way the new confidence sits on his shoulders.

What he does not like is the way he himself feels now. There's a need, an instinct, to reach out and touch, that he can't seem to break. Janos is not his anymore, he needs to remember. And he cannot bear the thought of how Janos will flinch away if he tries now. He wants to keep the memories of the time when Janos pretended to care about him close, wants them untainted. He was just so _good_ , so convincing.

“I think you were safer at Madame's.” He's misspoke, he sees it immediately in the way Janos' mouth tightens.

“I am not pretty bird, meant to be in cage. I can take care of myself.”

“I never said you couldn't.” He truly has no idea what to say now, how to speak to Janos when there is no understanding, no goal. It was easy to be charming when he had nothing to lose, but now he treads lightly, cautious of frightening him off when at the same time he just wants him to leave him be. “This, not good life.”

“The one I have before, that one better?” Azazel puts the sword in its bracket, and starts on the next one.

“You were safer.” Janos is in his room now, exactly where he does not need to be, standing closer to Azazel, his fury clear. Azazel does not halt in his task, needing to keep his hands busy.

“Where men like Hector can beat me if they so choose. Where I had to sleep with men I could not stand, that is where I was safer?” Azazel's hands stop, the words piercing through him.

“I apologize.” He manages, testing the balance, despite knowing his blades are perfect. “You did not have to agree to a contract with me though. If you had told me, I would not have returned.”

“What are you-?” Janos wrinkles his nose before he seems to understand. “You think I am meaning you? My English is not quite that poor Azazel. Being with you,” He shakes his head. “That was not about money. You know that, I told you.”

“Then why was I paying?” He wants to hurt him, make him leave, get away from Azazel.

“Because it was my job.” He leans over Azazel, hand on the card table. “And now I am not there anymore.” Azazel puts down the blade.

“Get out of my room.” The sharp intake of breath above him is the sign he's been waiting for, that he is finally under Janos' skin enough for him to leave. He does too, standing up straighter rather stiffly, adjusting the jacket of his suit before striding out, leaving Azazel blessedly alone.

The daily chore completed, he finds himself at a loss. Shaw has given no orders, not even idle speculations. He's planning something bigger, Azazel suspects, something that requires more than just a few well-placed blades and falls.

This problem with Janos needs to be resolved, and soon, he thinks. It's a distraction, an unnecessary one that could lead to mistakes. What to do though, he has no idea.

He has dinner with Emma that night, bringing her Italian food as a show of truce. She's careful, for the first few minutes, obviously sorry now and not wanting to fight again. It is Azazel who brings it up, how he is confused, unsure of how to make things work.

“Maybe I could just erase your memories of each other,” Emma speculates, but turns red when he actually contemplates it, hissing “I was joking!” Azazel remains silent. “I could...I could erase his? Then you could start fresh?” He shakes his head, the idea repugnant, no matter how desperate he is. “I thought I was helping the both of you.” She says, after a pause.

“I have asked you before to not interfere.”

“I know, I _know_ , I just had this idea in my head about how you two would just be so happy to be together, I didn't...” She runs a hand through her hair. He likes her best like this, he thinks, without make-up, her hair undone, in a plain white dress. She looks more like his memory of her, the one he carries close. She looks up at him, likely hearing his thoughts, and rests her head on his shoulder sadly. He embraces her with one arm, remembering something from years ago, when she was sixteen. “I wish you wouldn't bring that up.”

“Was important moment.”

“I tried to manipulate you. I was so mad at you, I just wanted you to let me go to the damn club, and I'd been able to do it a few times before.”

“You learned lesson, did you not?”

“I was terrified. It hurt so badly, I'd never felt anything like that.” She sighs. “And it was wrong to even try.”

“You were young.” He excuses. She is still upset, though he does not think it has anything to do with an event that happened over ten years ago.

“I'm sorry.” She apologizes again. “I really thought I was helping.” Azazel does not say anything, but instead lets her see his thoughts, his turmoil, but underneath that, his forgiveness. He loves her, like she is his own, and he will forgive her anything, he thinks. Even this.

She never says anything in return, but he feels the shake in her shoulders, and holds her close for a time.   
-

He watches Janos train, but avoids him as best as possible. He's beautiful when he fights, the movements coming easier and easier every time, delight in his face as he takes down their teammates. Azazel enjoys the show, watches him from the shadows, disappearing before Janos can ever catch sight of him.

The man seeks him out every chance he can, attempting to talk, but Azazel brushes him off. He is busier now, in any case, gathering intelligence on Russian weapons counts for Shaw. He's showing an interest in relations between the U.S.S.R. and the United States, or rather, the lack thereof. Azazel can practically see the gears turning in his head, some idea forming that he hides even from Emma. She tells Azazel she doesn't even want to look, too frightened of what she might see.

“Azazel,” He's been caught, Janos staring up at him. Tosho, a flying mutant, is on the ground, panting, waving his hand in surrender. “What are you doing?” If he runs, Tosho will grow suspicious, will ask questions. He disappears, reappears on the ground, and gives Tosho a hand up.

“Go on,” He tells him, and Tosho obeys. “You are getting better.” Janos shifts from one foot to the other, his bare chest glinting with sweat. Azazel wants him so badly, it's almost too much to bear. “But you are still holding back.”

“I did not want to hurt him.”

“Tosho heals quickly. Very quickly. You know that. Yet still, you pull your punches. That is a good way to get yourself killed.” Janos' face hardens at the criticism.

“You think I am weak.”

“I think nothing. I know you are weak. You are too scared to hurt anyone.” He starts unbuttoning his jacket, and the shirt underneath, removing both before throwing them in the direction of the wall. “Come,” He says, gesturing for Janos to try.

“I will not fight you.” Janos looks upset.

“Then you do not belong here.” Azazel is trying, damn it. This is all he can offer Janos, teach him to be stronger, better. Janos does not want his protection, so he must show him how to protect himself. “I doubt you even can hurt me.”

“Stop it,” He orders, “Stop telling me what I can and cannot do, what I feel and do not feel. You think you know everything about this world, always expecting the worst. You will not let yourself even consider the words I say, the truths I tell you. You tell yourself that I lie, that I do not want to be in your bed, that I do not care about you at all.” When Azazel won't look at him, he almost gapes. “Do you think I am stupid? That I do not know why you will not be in the room as me?”

“Janos...” He trails off, does not know what to even say.

“Why do you not believe me? I gave up that life so that I could have one with you. What must I do?” When Azazel does not answer him, Janos shakes his head. “Fine,” He agrees, “You want to fight me?” He looks at Janos again, at the power in his stance, and the need in his stomach almost doubles. God only knows what this will lead to, he thinks. “We will fight.”

-

Janos has no idea why he agrees, why he throws the first punch, figuratively. Maybe Azazel has a point though, because he holds back, softens the blow. Angry and frustrated as he is, it is still Azazel, still the man he feels this connection with.

Azazel has no such conflict, as far as he can tell. The blow to his side from the blunt side of Azazel's blade nearly knocks him over, and he comes within a centimeter of Janos' neck with the other. He is terrifying to Janos for the first time, as he finally sees just what Azazel is capable of. Still, the blades never pierce his skin.

He tries every trick he's learned, and he thinks he might actually be impressing Azazel, but only for the first few minutes. “This is not game!” Azazel yells, dispelling the notion. “Do not hold back! You want to live, you will fight me!” He doesn't finish the sentence, because Janos pulls, with all his strength, and the force of the wind he releases knocks Azazel off his feet. He disappears, reappears across the hangar, but Janos is ready. He can feel it now, feel the power in him, the strength of it, all at his command. Again and again, he throws it at Azazel, until sweat is dripping down his back, and his arms ache.

He keeps going though, twisting and turning the air, creating tornadoes instead of dust devils, and letting them tear through the floor, the ceiling. Azazel is avoiding every blow, but it is taking more effort, more concentration. Janos concentrates harder, summons more, _demands_ more, until he has a real storm at his beck and call, and he knocks Azazel into the wall.

He's gasping for breath at this point, so he lets it all go, until the hangar is silent, just the two of them. Azazel looks stunned, but Janos doesn't think he absorbed much impact before he popped away. What if he did though? What if he actually hurt him?

Azazel disappears, and reappears not an inch from him, still looking stunned, pupils dilated so that there is only a ring of blue. “I knew it,” He breathes, “I knew you would be gorgeous like that.” Janos does not know who moves first, but someone does, and the kiss is better than any they ever shared before. “Gorgeous,” Azazel groans, pulling him in tight. He's hard against Janos' leg, and before Janos can react, Azazel has one arm around his back, the other under his ass, and he lifts him up so that Janos' weight is supported by him.

“Azazel, please,” He begs, needing friction, some kind of movement. “Anywhere, anywhere is fine,” Azazel's mouth moves to his jaw, but he pulls his face back up so that they're kissing during the jump, still kissing when he feels his back hit the wall. Azazel pushes him higher on the wall, lifting a thigh with one hand so that Janos' legs open to accommodate him. Janos swears, head thumping against the wall, and Azazel's mouth goes to his throat, nipping at the skin before following with a kiss over each mark. “Azazel,” He pleads again, “Bed,”

They appear there naked, and god, that is Janos' favorite thing about Azazel's control, it really is. He opens his legs wider, so that Azazel rests in the space, can thrust against him. “Azazel, please,” He needs this now, has no idea what changed Azazel's mind, and doesn't much care, not when he has him at last.

“Patience is virtue,”

“Fuck that,” He swears, making Azazel chuckle, “Fuck me, please?” He wants it so badly, wants to feel every part of Azazel, so the startling loss of him when Azazel pulls away nearly robs him of breath. “Azazel?” There is the shine of metal on the wall, swords in their brackets. They are in Azazel's room. “Why did you stop?”

“No one is making you leave Janos. You do not have to do this.” Janos has had enough of this. They did not get this far only for Azazel to withdraw again.

“What must I do? You have no problem having sex with me before, when business, but now I throw myself at you, and you will not? You want me, I know. So what is this?” Azazel will not look at him, sitting on the edge of the bed now, so Janos crawls over, and straddles him. Azazel is still hard, and obviously practicing more restraint than Janos thought was possible. “Maybe if you will not do it, I will fuck myself on my fingers, and you can watch.” He shudders at Janos' words, so he rocks forward, making him groan and clutch Janos' hips. “I feel so good inside Azazel, you will never want me out of bed, I promise.”

“ Do not want to hurt you,” He growls, trying to still Janos. “Take advantage.”

“It is not taking advantage if I crawl into your lap and beg you. It is giving me what I want,” He rocks forward again, throws his head back at the feeling. “It is you inside of me, me owning you, making you want me so badly you will never want another,” Azazel's hands have stopped trying to still him, have started to move up his back. “It will feel so perfect,”

Azazel pushes him back down, lays him out, and reaches in the drawer, to Janos' victorious smirk. He is surprised then, when Azazel flips them, so that Janos straddles his waist. “Like this,” He orders, hand stroking Janos' back, “So you control it.”

Janos recovers, and takes the oil in hand. Before he pours it though, he gets a better idea. “Can you use your tail?” Azazel's eyebrows raise. “You cannot tell me you have never thought of it before? Not thought about stretching me with it, getting me ready for your cock?” He skates his hand down Azazel's chest, rubbing his ass back against the appendage in question teasingly. “You have, I can see.”

The tail winds up, into Janos' hand. Janos grins, and grips it, coating it with oil before letting go. The tip circles him, Azazel's face cautious, but so obviously wanting to give in. The first penetration is new, the shape different from what he's used to, the texture as well. It folds so it can slide inside, making Janos fall forward a little, but he catches himself, palms on Azazel's chest.

“A little more,” He asks, and it goes deeper, the flat of it expanding to stretch him further. Inside, it touches the spot, and he arches his back. Azazel clearly knows what he's doing, and he presses there harder with the tip. He laughs when Janos squirms, the first sign of him relaxing since they started.

The tail withdraws, leaving Janos cold, but he's ready now, so he raises himself up, and then-

 _Oh._

“Azazel,” He moans, “Azazel, move, please,” His hands settle on Janos' hips, help him lift up, so he can come back down, the feeling perfect, exactly what Janos thought it would be. He has to brace a hand against the side wall to keep himself upright, as he moves up and down. “You make me do all work,” He manages, stopping himself from switching to Spanish just in time. “More you, now, _por favor_ ,”

“Hurt you,” Azazel groans, his hands clenched tight on Janos.

“Won't, really,” He sounds like an idiot, but the only words that are coming to mind aren't in English, and he needs his meaning to be clear here, where Azazel is so clearly afraid of doing the wrong thing. “Like it,”

Azazel thrusts up, and Janos moans, the feeling fantastic, wonderful. “Yes, like that, like that,” Azazel does it again, and again, reassured by the appreciation Janos is sure to show. “Harder, yes,” The feeling of leather around his cock, tightening just enough to give him what he needs, and he's halfway gone, at the very least. Azazel sits up, one arm going around Janos' waist to keep him steady, and slips out, still holding Janos up. He goes to his knees, then he's back inside, thrusting up harder. He's silent, for the most part, so the only voice calling out is Janos', begging for more, until finally, finally, he comes, all over Azazel's chest.

The man swears in Russian, or at least it sounds like swearing, and makes it last a few more minutes before he stills and shudders, resting his head on Janos' shoulder while he catches his breath. He releases him after a minute, and Janos moves back so that he can rest against the wall, still out of breath. Azazel unfolds his legs, and sits beside him, looking nervous.

“I told you I would feel good, didn't I?” He asks with a smirk, and Azazel relaxes, chuckles. They manage to get themselves laying right in the bed, eventually, with Janos sitting up, Azazel's head in his lap. The fit is good enough for the two of them, he thinks, but his bed back at Madame's would have been better. “Why would you not do that before?”

“Intimate.” Azazel answers, voice low and tired. “To be like that, more than I like sometimes. Also, I did not ever enjoy it when done to me.”

“Is not something you do to me. Is something we do together. Is not,” He pauses, tries to find the word, “Inflicting, I think? Yes, that is word. Is not inflicting something on me. I like it. I always have. I like the feeling, the power.”

“Power?” He runs his fingers through Azazel's hair, thinking.

“Men will do anything to have me, and when I agree, I control it, always. They need to make me happy if they want to be satisfied.” Azazel is still against him. “You truly did not like it?”

“The men who tried, were friends. Circus people, other mutants. But they could never make it, ah, good. So I wonder at how others can like it.” Janos shrugs.

“Does not matter. We know I can make you happy in many ways.” Azazel laughs, and tugs him down.

As they sleep, Azazel's tail wraps around Janos' leg, keeping him close, or maybe just keeping him.

**Author's Note:**

> Criticism is love, remember!


End file.
